


Perdu dans la traduction

by Chibiness87



Series: Warm bodies [2]
Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Smut, Vampires, Voyeuristic elements, Witches, bundling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 05:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: For the first time in 1500 years, he feels naked.





	Perdu dans la traduction

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to Lost in Translation. I don’t think it’s quite as smutty as that one, but it’s still not exactly as pure as the driven snow either. *checks*… ok, it’s fairly smutty.

**Perdu dans la traduction** , by **chibiness87**  
**Rating: E**. More bundling.  
**Season/Spoilers** : 1.05. (Do the episodes have names?)  
**Disclaimer** : Not mine.

 **Summary** : For the first time in 1500 years, he feels naked.

* * *

She’s taken to resting her thumb on his lower lip, and it makes his heart stop each and every time. The trust she shows, the slight thrum of her pulse in her thumb so close to his teeth, and yet she rests it there, cradling his jaw as she does so. It humbles him. Makes him want to be worthy of her. Protect her, worship her.

Makes him want to cover her in his scent, brand her as his. Curl around her and keep her from the evils of the world; evils which seem intent on pursuing her. Pursuing her power. Because, oh, she has power. Power upon power, every marker they know about, and some more besides. She has it within her to strike down anyone and everyone in her path, with water and wind, and yet, the way her soft hand cups his face makes him want to take her away to a place she will never have to worry about any of it.

When he takes her upstairs, he honestly intends to spend the night with her. Not in the modern way, not sharing skin, sharing heat and musk and lust, but in the pure way of the past. Spend the night with a different sort of intimacy. Finding out what makes her smile, what makes her laugh. Find out what things make her hurt and ache and cry, and then do his damnedest to make sure she never has to face any of them again.

Being Mated is not just about the sharing of bodies, after all. It is the sharing of self. And that thought both electrifies and downright terrifies him.

So when she starts to undress him, he has to make sure. Has to prepare her for what he knows she is about to see. A truth about him she probably hasn’t yet thought about, despite his age. He knows he is marked by his life, knows his body pays testament to all the times he came close to death. But this is the first time in over 1500 years that being without his shirt makes him feels truly naked. This is the first time he is concerned about his appearance.

If she steps away from him now, he honestly doesn’t know how he will survive.

But instead of the disgust he fears, her eyes widen, her gasp of his name detailing the pain she is feeling. Pain _for_ him. For the suffering, the torment, the sheer number of scars which litter his body. Her hand trails across some of them, leaving a path of fire in their wake, making him tremble. But it is nothing compared to the feel of her lips as they caress his wounds. Soft and delicate, paying homage to the mark of a broadsword he was lucky to escape further harm from. She takes her time, studying with intent, and he can feel her eyes as they take in one of his many truths.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, letting her drink her fill; time after all has a different meaning when you have lived for over 1500 years. But when she comes to face him once more, there is a look in her eye he hadn’t prepared for, despite her initial reaction. Anger and rage and pain, all for him. “I want to hunt down every last person who hurt you,” she says, and he believes her. Knows that, if just one of the scars was caused by someone still living, she would find them.

The rush of desire that fills him at the words shocks him. One of his secrets uncovered, and Hamish was right. She now knows some of his truth, some of his past, not the big things, he knows she should, knows that is a conversation to come, but later. Later, when she isn't looking at him with love and desire, like he is her entire world. She loves him, despite his scars, his history with wars and battles and fights. Loves him even though she shouldn’t.

How was he to do anything else but to love her in return?

She was right, earlier. They are bound together. He was a fool to try to deny it. But then, he’s never felt this way about anyone before.

He remembers when Miriam Mated, the attitude he took. Remembers watching her fall apart when Bertrand was taken. Remembers having to watch Ysabeau go through the same thing after Phillipe died. He has vowed he would never Mate, if only to avoid going through the pain of losing them should the worst happen.

And now, he has mated with a witch. A mortal. His life will be over in a matter of decades now; there is no way he will be able to survive losing her. Diana has woken something in him he didn’t even know existed, a feeling so powerful it is all he can do to not give in to the predator hiding within him. But she is his now. His to protect, his to love, and if he were to ever hurt her, lash out in a rage like he did the witch in Oxford he would kill himself without a moment’s pause, knowing forgiveness would never come.

He welcomes the congregation. Welcomes Baldwin and Gerbert and Domenico. Knox and anyone else who even thinks about taking Diana away from him now. Let them come, let them try. It is not just himself they will have to deal with; Ysabeau’s benediction of daughter enough for him to know she will raise hell on his behalf if needed. Taking a witch from a vampire is one thing. But to take a vampire’s Mate? Even the cretins that seem to want to govern his life wouldn’t dare.

All his thoughts comes to an end with his next breath. Honeysuckle and springtime, willow sap and something he can only think of as _Diana_. Her eyes widen slightly as he bends to kiss her, letting the desire he feels take over. The plans he had, bundling in the true historical sense of the word, fall by the wayside, and he is left with an intense need to take.

Control hanging by a thread, he has her on her back, legs splayed for him within seconds. Unable to wait, he traces his hand up to where her thighs meet, only sparing a single glance to her face to make sure she is on board with his plans, before sliding his hand down and into her. And _oh_ , she is wet. Her scent hot and spicy in the air, on his tongue. He wants to sink his mouth onto her, into her, giving her an answer to a variation of the question she asked so long and no time at all ago; what _would_ she taste like?

Her hand in his hair gives him pause, it is the only thing that does so, and instead of lowering his mouth he smirks at her. Dark and dangerous, letting another finger slip in. Finds her bundle of nerves with ease, relishing in the way her hips fall to his rhythm. It doesn’t take long before her back arches, adrenaline rushing, and he uses the way her body is singing to him to guide his movements. Nothing matters to him more than making her climax, her moans and pants a symphony to his ears. Selfishly, he hopes his mother can hear this. Hopes she can see that when he says he loves this mortal, when he bound himself to her in a way she will only fully come to understand in time, he is not doing so on a whim.

Teeth on her nipple, tasting the salt of Diana’s skin even through the layers of clothing she still wears, the alpha in him growls when she lets go, her internal muscles quaking and quivering around his fingers. Her scent is heightened, her witches’ blood pulsing through her veins, and it is all he can do not to sink his teeth in to her and suck. Not to bleed her, but to experience what she has through her own eyes. A feedback loop of passion.

But that will come in time. For now, he lets his thumb trace over her clit once more, letting her flutter in ecstasy again, before withdrawing his hand. Unable to resist, he swipes his fingers clean with his mouth, her taste blossoming on his tongue. His eyes are alight with joy, his inner self all but preening with satisfaction at her flushed, sated body, even though his is still hard and pulsing at her hip.

“I don’t think that’s bundling,” she gasps at him, and he has to laugh. Still so feisty, even now, like this, body still twitching, blood still pounding, adrenaline spiking the air between them, and oh, but he loves her.

“It is in France,” he says, a grin on his face, making her laugh in reply.

So content is he, it takes him by surprise when her hand reaches down between them and takes him in hand. His eyes slip closed, a soft grunt escaping his lips, even as she fumbles with his trousers. But then the clasp is undone, and her warm hand is on his flesh, and her husky “My turn,” has him close to the edge quicker than he ever imagined possible.

And for the first time all evening does he wonder just how he’s going to get through the night alive.

* * *

Thoughts?

 


End file.
